


Grim Reaper Break Room

by Shousei



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Comedy, Death, Death Scythes, Grim Reaper Headquarters, Grim Reapers, Hijinks & Shenanigans, It's a bit like The Office, Reapers, Shinigami, Work humor, who ate my sandwich
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28838445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shousei/pseuds/Shousei
Summary: In which tea and sympathy takes on a rather different sentiment.
Kudos: 9





	Grim Reaper Break Room

!Series for age 13+  
!Manga spoilers  
!This chapter: Moderate profanity/hangriness/non-fiction chocolate  
!1300 words

* * *

I: _Chocolate DEATH_.

Grell heard the monstrosity before she saw it. She stopped in her tracks, briefly, ignoring the rumbling in her stomach to attend to the clanging and banging coming from down the hall. Dispatch always seemed to have something strange going on—it was the nature of their work as reapers, after all—but it didn’t usually sound like this.

Especially, not in the break room.

The metallic cacophony continued. Grell considered whether or not it was a good idea to investigate, but she was hangry, dammit, and whatever was going on was getting in the way of her and the spinach quiche she had stashed in the ice box. She stalked the rest of the way down the hall and slammed the break room door open.

And blinked. In addition to the usual kitchen area with its sink, kettle and beverage accoutrement, the few long tables with battered chairs, the faded posters urging worker morale and cleaning up after oneself, there was now a large rectangular box conspicuously residing in one corner of the room. It had a glass window, through which Grell spied several neat rows of sweets and snacks. One package looked especially inviting.

She was momentarily distracted by the sweet whisperings of this sexy sugar wall, when she was rudely invited back to reality by another round of hammering. It was coming from behind the box; the treats shuddered and jumped in their slots in response. Exasperated and low on glucose, Grell put her hands on her hips and made sure to be heard over the noise.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? I CAN HEAR THIS RACKET FROM DOWN THE CORRIDOR!”

The hammering ceased, and a grinning, bespectacled face popped out from behind the structure. “OH, if it isn’t Miss Grell! Sorry, sorry, I’m about done here.” He ruffled his shock of Juniper-green hair and struggled to remove his short frame from behind the box, a small mallet in hand.

“Othello,” Grell groaned. “I should have known.” While he was usually to be found in Forensics, Grell had had to deal with him from time to time. A pure geek, she never understood what Othello found so interesting about the bits of metal he tinkered with, although—she would be the last to admit it—some of his observations of humanity could occasionally pique her interest. However, there was nothing humanoid about the big box Othello was now shoving back against the wall.

“Isn’t this cool? I think we can give this a go and see if people are ready for it.” He brushed off his gloved palms and picked up his white lab coat from where it lay draped over a chair. “Its motor was fussing a bit before, but I think I have it sorted.”

“Why have you brought your junk over here?! Keep it in your own department!” Grell scowled, stomping across the room to fetch her lunch.

Othello scoffed. “Dearest Grell, it’s not junk! This is called a _vending machine_.” He smiled widely, as pleased with the sound of its name as he appeared to be with its existence. “You put in money and it gives you the item you want, like this.” He popped a pair of coins into a slot in the box’s front before pressing a couple of buttons below it. Behind the glass window, a tiny whirring noise preceded the march of a boxed cookie to the front of its row; it fell over the edge and to the bottom of the window. Othello reached into a shuttered door at the machine’s bottom and pulled the cookie out before coming over to flop into the chair across from Grell. “See? Dessert.” He grinned again, opening the package and giving the cookie a hearty chomp.

Grell had sat down at the table nearest the break room door with her food. It was still not far enough away for her, but she couldn’t ignore Othello’s demonstration when the tantalizing result was right in front of her. Her eyes dropped from the cookie to her meal before warily settling back on the machine, with its promise of dessert. She caught herself just before drooling openly, standing with a huff and slamming both hands on the tabletop.

“FINE. I’ll try it.”

Othello chuckled, watching her dig in her pocket for coins and approach the machine. “Let me know if there isn’t anything in there you like; I’ll see if I can have Hospitality find everyone’s favorites.”

Grell’s favorite was already among the items present. She decided on a bar of milk chocolate, a brand she hadn’t had in some time. Noting the price, she inserted some coins and punched in the alphanumeric code the candy was labeled with. She was surprised at the thrill of anticipation she felt as the chocolate began to slide forward; she pressed her nose to the glass, awaiting the treat’s descent to land within her grasp. It reached the end of the row.

And stopped.

Grell stared. The chocolate’s packaging was caught on the rotating coils used to propel the items forward. It dangled at the edge of oblivion, teasing her.

Othello peered over from the table. “What’s up? Did it get stuck? That sometimes happ—”

“GYAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

Grell had snapped, her heart busted into a thousand pieces by the rejection. She pounded on the glass, shrieking obscenities at the machine as it shook under the onslaught. “BLOODY TRAITOROUS PIECE OF SADISTIC METAL TRASH! GIVE ME BACK MY MONEY!”

“Grell, STOP!” Othello had blanched and jumped up, rushing over to pull on her elbow. “I just fixed it and you’re going to _break_ it!”

“SERVES HIM RIGHT FOR USING ME, THE DECEITFUL, TREACHEROUS LOUT!” Grell had shaken Othello off to grab at both sides of the vending machine and shake it, slamming its back against the break room wall. “ _GIVE. ME. MY. **TOBLERONE**_.”

“AHHH! GRELL, CUT IT OUT!” Othello wailed, hugging the side of the box as it rocked. Noticing a dash of motion, his eyes darted to the bottom of the window. “—LOOK, Grell, your chocolate fell dow—”

“YOU **_BASTARD_**!!”

Othello had to dive under the closest table. Grell had yanked out her death scythe and yanked on its pull cord; it roared to life, revving briefly before descending upon the disloyal machine. Glass shattered and flew everywhere; Othello whimpered as bits of metal and pastry crumbs rained down on the floor around him. When it was finally quiet, he lifted his head from under his arms, dreading what he might find.

Grell sat next to her death scythe amongst the debris, quietly munching, save for a few dark mutterings in between bites. She scowled at the empty package in her hand, but her eyes lit up at the sight of another, lying unopened to her side. She grabbed it, ripping it open and taking a bite before plucking a handful more off the floor and stashing them in her coat pockets.

Othello sighed, stooping to pick up a large piece of the motor he had just repaired. “Really, Grell, how unprofessional of you.” He plopped on the floor nearby her, planting his face on his fist. “Next time I can get one of these, I suppose I’ll have to be sure it’s filled with Snickers instead.”

(╯°Д°）╯︵┻━┻ /(.□ . \\) 

Thank you for reading!

I wanted to have something a bit lighter to write while working on my longer, darker fic. In the world of BB, the Reapers are my kind of people, and I’ve wanted to try something to explore the more routine side of their very not-routine existence. This first short story is the result; I hope you enjoy it, as well as the other chapters to come!


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